The Fowl
"The Fowl" By NHL18, based on "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe Once upon a midnight rivalry, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and hopeful dreams of deprived glory, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a quacking. As of some bird gently laughing, laughing at my chamber door. ''Tis some child,' I muttered, 'gurgling at my chamber door - Only this and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak postseason, And each fading goal wrought its boast upon the icy floor, Eagerly I wished on the morrow; - vainly I had sought to purport, From my videos surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost gold - For the rare and silver chalice worth its weight in gold - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad certain dimness of each home scoreboard, Filled me - filled me with fantastic terror witnessed thrice before, So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ''Tis some child entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late pranker entreating entrance at my chamber door; - That it is, and nothing more.' Presently my phallus grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, 'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forbearance I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so mockingly you came a quacking, And so gently you were laughing, laughing at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that murkiness peering, long I stood there loathing, fearing, Doubting, apprehensive thoughts acquainted with often before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken were fevered words, 'Lost gold!' This I whispered, and an echo parodied back the words, 'Lost gold!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my lust within me burning, Soon again I heard a quacking somewhat louder than before. Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my cowardice still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis a buffoon and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately fowl of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Hiller just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this snowy bird inclined my sad fancy into crying, By the knowing smirk covering the countenance it wore, 'Though thy crest be hard and forged, thou,' I said, 'art sure no flop.' Ghastly grimness penetrating my chest from the nightly shore - 'Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Progerian shore!' Quoth the fowl, 'Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear travesty so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was cursed with seeing this above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as 'Nevermore.' But the duck, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered 'Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is only mockery heard before, Escaped from some heartless master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore." And the playacting bird inclined all my sad soul into crying, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to blinking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in fearing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my hockey's core; This and more I sat divining, with intensity so nerve wracking On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Niedermayer whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy Lord hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and sedating from my memories of lost gold! Quaff, oh quaff this kind sedating, and forget me this lost, lost gold!' Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in golfing? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' 'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that Lord we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, past the distant Aprils, It shall clasp a sainted chalice whom angels declare ultimate glory - Clasp a rare and radiant silver chalice called the Lord Stanley?' Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' 'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Prongerian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my dooming unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.' And the duck, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Hiller just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore! Category:xfd sharks